Memories
by F3rn
Summary: Five years after the end of the war, Neville is watching his parents die. Alice Longbottom is dreaming of her childhood. Neville/Hannah and Alice/Frank. Switches between Neville 3rd person and Alice 1st person .
1. Prologue

In a bleak hospital room, with white walls, two white beds, white floor and dreary white walls, Healers in white robes moved swiftly and deliberately around the only break in the deathly whiteness; the crumpled grey shirt and blue jeans of Neville Longbottom. Even the two people in the white beds were white- their hair was colourless, their faces the colour of paper. Frank and Alice Longbottom were dying. After twenty two years trapped inside their own heads by insanity, Neville knew that he ought to be grateful that his parents were finally getting the peace they deserved. But it was hard to think that way when the people who had brought him into being, but he had never really known, were lying in St Mungo's with the life draining from them.

Sensationalists, those who believed in star signs and fortune telling, would whisper words like "soul mates". The two people who had given up almost everything, who had loved each other and their son so dearly as to sacrifice their sanity, could not hold onto life any longer if the other was leaving it. But the Healers were practical people. They knew that there were two people who were dying, and however much their son chose to ignore it, nothing could be done.

Frank lay as still as the corpse that the Healers knew he would soon become; the only slight movement he made being the faint rise and fall of his chest with his shallow breathing. But Alice tossed and turned, moaned continuously. It was the only noise in the room apart from the occasional beeping of the machines by the side of their beds. Neville could hear her murmuring, speaking for the first time since her torture. He caught the words "grandmother", "Hogwarts" and "Emmeline".

Alice was dreaming of her childhood.

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	2. Before Hogwarts

I was huddled in a corner, pressing myself against the aged oven for warmth. Outside, the snow whirled down, and the wind buzzed at the window. At the kitchen table, which appeared massive through my three year old eyes, my grandmother sat slumped forward. I wondered if she was sleeping. Or perhaps she was dead.

Before I had a chance to jump to my feet and check, there was a loud thump on the glass of the window. A moment later, a rather stunned looking owl popped back into view, hopping up and down from leg to leg, ruffling his feathers. Grandmother stood up too quickly, knocking back her chair. Disregarding it, she hurried over to the window and opened it, letting in a cold blast of air. I shivered and shut my eyes against the swirl of snowflakes which whipped across the room. A moment later, I peeked through my eyelashes to see Grandmother sag to the floor, a dry sob escaping her lips. The wind continued to blast snow into the kitchen, and I wondered why she didn't shut the window.

* * *

It was the next day, and Grandmother appeared white and drawn as she made my breakfast. I was almost afraid to speak, but as I sucked the honey from my fingers at the end of the meal, I asked almost absent mindedly, "When is Daddy coming back from hospital, Grandma?"

She blinked rapidly, and replied in a shaky voice, "Daddy isn't coming home, Alice darling. He died yesterday."

I was confused. I didn't understand what was going on. Daddy wasn't supposed to die. It wasn't allowed. If he died then I always jumped on his tummy until he woke up and laughed. But Grandmother looked so upset that I decided not to push it. Instead I slid from my chair, ambled to my grandmother's side, and put my sticky arms around her. For some reason she didn't tell me to wash my hands, but clung to me and wept.

* * *

I was seven years old, and my Grandmother, only ever having brought up boys, had allowed me to run wild. I climbed trees, attempted to tame foxes (without success), and had full run of the Prewetts' extensive gardens and the surrounding land. I was lying in a field, chewing slowly on a stalk of grass, with my band of village minions gathered around me. I was the leader, because I was the richest, the bossiest, the best tree climber and the fastest runner.

"Me mam and da have bin fightin' agin," volunteered on small mousy haired girl ruefully.

I spat out my blade of grass, which tasted vile anyway, and said wisely, "Ah, marriage. It's a bad idea to fall in love; you won't catch me doing it."

"Why not Ali?" A boy with ginger hair and matching freckles asked.

"My father died because he loved my mother too much," I announced proudly. "The healers said it was new-moanya or something like that, from staying out too long in the snow, but Grandma says it was the love that killed 'im. 'E was visiting her grave at the time, see." I sometimes forgot to drop my haitches, but always made an effort to. It made me sound cool and old.

The boy screwed up his face. "Wot's 'ealers then?" he enquired.

I frowned. I was often making little slips like this- if grandmother knew how often I accidently made some reference to the magical world in front of my muggle gang, she would forbid me from seeing them. I was wily enough to know that.

"I meant doctors, course." To my relief the boy, whose name I didn't even know, accepted this without comment.

The sun moved on, and eventually they were all needed at home for chores and bed. I dragged my weary feet home, more because I liked the dust they kicked up than from any actual tiredness, and went to bed.

* * *

The world was against me. I had gone nearly eight whole years without any kind of schooling, and suddenly my grandmother decided that I needed a governess.

"You have to learn a little maths and essay writing skills if you are to manage at Hogwarts," she told me sternly. The injustice of it all was too terrible.

Fortunately, however, I was about to get rid of the fifth governess that Grandma had employed in two months. Crouching behind the desk that they had all sat at, proud and unfriendly, I watched the door carefully through the cracks.

I heard talking from outside the door. I strained my ears to hear what was being said.

"No, Thomas stop, no really Thomas! Miss Prewett is waiting for me, the stuck up little beast, and she'd love a chance to tell Mrs Prewett that I was late, to get me sacked. Oh Thomas, you naughty boy!" It seemed that Miss Branhill, a condescending, sycophantic young woman whom I had despised from the moment she set foot in Prewett hall, was having a lot of fun with Thomas, the young butler that Grandma employed from the village. His younger brother Nat was one of my gang.

The door handle descended with agonising slowness as Miss Branhill giggled and Thomas moaned on the other side of the door. Then, with a sudden jerk, it came free. Startled by the sudden release, Miss Branhill stumbled back, pushing open the door. This overbalanced the pail of water that I had spent the previous half an hour tying to the chandelier above the door. With a shriek, the two of them fell to the floor, deluged in icy cold water.

I thought, while desperately repressing laughter, that I would probably never forget that image- Miss Branhill sprawled on the floor with Thomas on top of her, arms still clasped around her, soaked head to foot, with Grandmother standing over them snarling with anger.

* * *

Thomas glared at me as he stalked past to open the door to the newest governess. I smirked and gave him a sarcastic wave. The only reason that he hadn't been sacked was that Grandmother took pity on him because he was supporting his whole family since his father died. Pity. I had never much liked him anyway.

* * *

My gang were waiting for me outside the ice cream shop in the village as usual. At nine years and ten months, I had long since tired of childish occupations like lying in fields and chewing on grass, so my willing tribe transferred their meeting place to the village square. By now I had at least learnt all their names.

I noticed the mousy haired girl, Emmeline, was missing. "Where's Emmy, you lot?"

"I 'eard that 'er da had bin beatin up 'er mam agin," one boy said.

"Yeh, me mam was sayin only this mornin 'ow shameful t'was," another said solemnly.

I found her eventually, stuck up a tree.

"How did you manage to climb up there?" I asked. That tree had always been impossible to climb, even for me.

"Dunno. I was cryin cos me da wouln't leave me mam alone, and I was runnin away from the house. Then I found meself stuck up 'ere.

When I managed to get her down, she started crying again.

"Tell you what, Emmy. Why don't we go and tell your dad what's what?"

* * *

I was sulking in my bedroom. For the first time in my nine years, I had been grounded.

"That was an extremely foolish thing to do," my grandmother told me haughtily. "Mr Vance had been abusing his wife, yes, but the right thing to do would have been to tell me, _not_ to take matters into your own hands! You are lucky he didn't hit you as well! In fact, if he didn't realise that you were my granddaughter, I expect he probably would have!"

I didn't want to listen.

* * *

"Grandma, you know how it's my birthday next week?"

"You know _that_ it's my birthday next week, dear."

"You know _that_ it's my birthday next week, Grandma?"

"Yes dear, I do."

"Tommy says the circus is coming to the next village next week."

"Does he, dear?"

"Please will you take me, Grandma? And please can you take all my friends as well?"

It took a lot of persuasion to bring her around, but eventually I managed it.

* * *

"Wow, look at those jugglers!" I glanced at Emmeline, who was sitting forward in her seat, gazing in rapture at the clowns on their unicycles, tossing bottles effortlessly into the air. Privately I thought that this was as good as any magic, this bright colour and whirl of noise.

"Let's run away to the circus!" I called. Emmy laughed, and Grandmother snorted, trying to look above it all. Around me all my gang were standing up and shouting in exhilaration. It was only a small tent, and with the boom of the music and their shrieking I wondered if I might go deaf. However, it was all so exciting that I found I didn't particularly care.

* * *

Emmeline was missing from our number again. "Has anyone seen her?" I asked lazily. Normally I would have been eager to jump up and look for anyone who was missing- anything to relieve the monotony. After my birthday last week there was nothing to do at all. But the sun was so hot for October, and we were all eating our ice-creams in the garden since they all had half term from their primary school. Eventually, however, I decided that with my reputation for looking out for my friends on the line, I ought to go and look for her.

I found her under that same tree. She was standing under it, a look of rapture on her face, the breeze tossing her hair about. Behind her the sky was brilliantly blue, and the sun was shining on the side of her pale face, reflecting off her almost blindingly. She looks beautiful, I thought. She was throwing leaves into the air, much faster and more accurately than ought to have been possible considering how flat they were. I recognised it instantly as the juggling she had been so taken with the week before. She was laughing excitedly, and at that moment it struck me. Not just the time she had inexplicably got stuck up a tree, but all those other slips that I had been too wrapped up my own life to notice.

I ran forward, gathered a pile of leaves and threw them into the air, dancing around in the rain of them that tumbled down. Then I tried to juggle them as she had done, throwing them up and grasping for them desperately. But the wind whipped them away, and with increasing frustration I found that I just couldn't do it. Bursting into disappointed tears I ran home. I caught one glimpse of my grandmother's startled face before I threw myself onto my bed, furious with myself for crying.

* * *

"Alice dear!" My grandmother was calling from downstairs.

"Go 'way."

"You have a visitor!"

"Tell 'em to go 'way."

"You get down here this minute, young woman!"

When I eventually dragged myself downstairs, and Grandmother had left us alone, Emmeline said shyly, "What is it that we can do?"

"What you can do, you mean." I was momentarily furious. "I'm a SQUIB!" In my fury, sparks shot from my fingers and set one of the antique cushions alight. My anger and disappointment momentarily forgotten, I gave a cry of "oh shit!" and set about stamping on it. When I cautiously removed my foot, the cushion was as good as new, and all what remained of the incident was a thin curl of smoke, still rising towards the ceiling. I looked up at Hestia, who was watching me with one eyebrow raised, and smiled sheepishly. I suddenly understood what real friendship was; when someone would come looking for you because they really cared about you, not for the gossip, or to keep up a reputation of being a caring person. I felt that in all my ten years this was the most astounding revelation I had ever had.


	3. Hannah

Neville stalked down the blindingly white corridor which lead to the stairs, already fumbling with a cigarette. As he turned a sharp corner he cannoned into someone, who stumbled and put out a hand on the wall to prevent herself from falling over. He muttered a terse, "sorry," and was already skirting around the young woman and reaching into his pocket for another cigarette (he had dropped the last one in the collision) when, astoundingly, she said his name.

"Neville? Neville Longbottom?" Her voice was tired and drained, and almost completely devoid of all emotion, but he vaguely recognised it. He peered at her face, and then light dawned.

"Hannah Abbot? Of Hufflepuff? Always worked with Ernie MacMillan in Herbology?" God, she had changed. Gone were the chubby cheeks and flaxen waist length plaits. She looked thin and utterly worn out, her face as pale as his, and dark shadows under her eyes. She had cut her golden hair, and her blonde curls now only reached her shoulders. They hung lank and uncared for around her face. In short, she looked as bad as he felt.

"The very same." She attempted to summon a weak smile, but only succeeded in a vague twitching of her mouth. "So what brings you to St Mungo's at this unearthly hour of the night?" Was it night already? He supposed it must be. He had been trapped in that white box of a room for so long that he had lost track of time.

"My parents," he muttered, not meeting her eyes.

Her false jovial manner dropped immediately, and she looked slightly guilty. "Oh, yes, I read about that in the paper..." Her voice trailed off. It was well known that Neville hated the attention he received from the media.

"What about you?" He wasn't particularly interested, but he somehow found himself craving conversation that wasn't about the state of his parents.

"My dad." He looked at her enquiringly, and she swallowed. "He went a bit off the rails after mum died, you know, in the war, and he tried to commit suicide by jumping out of the window yesterday. He broke his neck, but with what healing spells I know I managed to get him to St Mungo's alive." She swallowed again. "They, they don't know if he's going to make it."

"God, I am sorry." He felt somehow less uncomfortable about this girl knowing about his parents. She at least knew some of what he was going through.

She seemed determined to fight back tears, be at least marginally composed. "He always said that he was living to walk me down the aisle on my wedding day. I think that when my boyfriend, Brian, dumped me last week, that pushed him over the edge. He was always hinting—" Here her voice broke.

"Hey, er, I don't mind if you want to cry," Neville said awkwardly. Inside he was writhing with frustration. "And, um, I'm sorry about your boyfriend."

"Oh, I sh-shouldn't be offloading my problems onto you, you've got enou-enough to deal with." Hannah's voice was now shaking with suppressed emotion, but she still refused to let the tears spill. "He was a jerk anyway. Brian," she added, seeing Neville's confused expression. "Anyway, gotta go, maybe see you around." With that she fled down the corridor. He could hear her sniffs echoing in his ears.

It was all very well for her, he thought wrathfully, kicking the floor as he set off towards the exit again.

She had known her parents growing up. She had known all about them. She could ask them any questions whenever she wanted to. The only person he knew who had known his father as a child was his grandmother, and she would only tell of the war hero she was so proud of. Understandably she didn't want to think of the baby Frank, whom she had loved and nurtured so tenderly.

Both of his mother's parents were dead.

Whereas _Hannah_, he thought viciously, didn't know how lucky she was. Admittedly, she had been somewhat sensitive to the fact that he was worse off than she, but then that might just have been eagerness to brush him off and cry in peace.

He wished he could have a normal conversation that wasn't about dying parents.

He hated being famous. Hated it.

He couldn't walk down the corridor during normal visiting hours without people whom he had never met dashing up and offering empty condolences, or even less tactfully, asking for autographs.

He had been given a bed at the hospital because of "special circumstances" and also, he suspected, because it was him. He couldn't go down to the cafeteria for breakfast without attracting stares and whispers. He suddenly felt that he knew how Harry must have felt at Hogwarts.

So he was reduced to sneaking down there late in the evening (or, if Hannah was right, late at night) when no-one was about and making himself a meal. He also enjoyed a smoke while there was no beady eyed waitress to tell him off. Then, he made his way back up to the room his parents were in, and slipped inside. His mother was still murmuring in her sleep.

He sighed, almost inaudibly.

**So, no reviews yet, but I keep updating in the hope that it will catch someone's attention. I'm so pathetic :( But if you are reading this now (and obviously you are) please, _please, _PLEASE leave a review. Or I will have to just crawl away miserably, and discreetly delete this story.**


	4. I'm never going to fall in love!

I was on the Hogwarts express, sitting opposite Emmeline in a compartment we had all to ourselves. Until a couple of Slytherins came swaggering up to our compartment, that is.

"It doesn't make any difference at all, being muggleborn, Emmy— Oh, hello." I didn't sound enthusiastic, for the leers on the boys' faces as they slid open the door did not look promising.

"Mudblood, eh? We don't need you kind around here you know _Emmy,"_ one of them smirked. "Don't listen to your friend- you'll never be as good at magic as a pureblood."

Emmy stared at them disparagingly, and shrugged. I marvelled at her ability to keep her cool- I was close to starting a punch up, but I restrained myself, eager to see what the prat thought of that.

He narrowed his eyes, and both of them stepped further into the compartment. One was very tall indeed, probably about fifteen or sixteen, with white-blonde hair and a prominent sneer. The other, who had not yet spoken, was shorter and perhaps a couple of years younger. Now he grunted, "Filthy mudblood like you needs to show us some respec— AH!"

The two boys stumbled back out of the compartment swearing, , one barely able to lift his leaden legs, and the other still being attacked by flying bogies with bat's wings. I glanced at Emmeline.

"I take it you had a look through that jinxes book I got you for your birthday in the holidays."

"Yep. I practised 'em on a fox that tried stealin' the chickens last week."

"That poor fox."

"Mmmm. Ma was pleased, though."

* * *

I was stumbling up to the front of the hall, the Scottish teacher's announcement of "Prewett, Alice!" still ringing in my ears. I sat on the stool, and self-consciously slid the ragged hat over my eyes.

"Oh yes, I see cunning, an instinct for self preservation- you want to prove your worth very badly- you'd do well in Slytherin my dear."

"No!" I thought desperately. "Not Slytherin! Anything but Slytherin!"

I knew that Slytherins were evil- everything my grandmother had ever said about them told me this. I had come from a family of Gryffindors all the way, so I was horrified to find myself being considered for Gryffindor house's greatest rival.

"Really? Are you sure? I can't put you in Gryffindor, you're not right for that house at all, you know."

"Yes! I'll take anything!"

"Well, I suppose... you're willing to work, are you? I do sense loyalty, and a certain dogged determination."

"Yes, I—"

"Hmm. Well, alright, but understand I'm doing this against my better judgement...

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"What?" I was utterly taken aback. I was not hard working at all, any one of my many governesses could testify to that.

"Miss Prewett, are you going to give the sorting hat to Mr Quentin or not?"

Still shell-shocked, I walked numbly down to the Hufflepuff table. However, my natural confidence soon bounced back up again, and I smiled easily as I slid into a seat beside a girl with dark hair and pink cheeks, who grinned back.

I watched in disappointment as Emmeline was sorted into Ravenclaw- not that it was surprising. In the few years we had spent together since I discovered that she was a witch, I had come to realise just how brainy Emmeline was. Her demonstration on the Hogwarts Express alone showed that.

* * *

I squinted between my eyelids, and sunlight flooded in. Swearing, I sat up and rubbed my eyes. "Morning to you too!" said Hestia cheerfully from the next bed. She was permanently happy, it seemed, and had not stopped smiling since we had met at the Hufflepuff table last night.

"Wassatime?" I mumbled, stretching luxuriously.

"Erm... wait a sec..." Hestia fumbled on her bedside table for her watch. "Oh, look at that. It's eight fifty."

"SHIT!" No wonder it was so quiet, I thought as I scrambled out of bed and tumbled into the bathroom. Everyone else had already gone to have breakfast without us.

When I exited the bathroom three minutes later, Hestia was still in bed, smiling serenely. "Only kidding!" she grinned. "It's half seven." Around the room the other three girls had all been awoken by my cry, and had pushed open the curtains surrounding their beds.

"What's going on? What's the matter, Alice?" A sleeping looking black girl called Ella pushed her hair out of her face and yawned loudly.

"Sorry guys," I apologised, and then turned on Hestia menacingly. "You little—"

"Now, now," she admonished cheerfully. "You've already sworn twice this morning, and you've only been up five minutes. Don't want to make that three times, do you?"

* * *

"Emmy! Oy, Emmeline! _Emmeline Vance_!" Heads turned in the Great Hall, the ceiling of which was bright blue with the occasional white fluffy cloud, as I hollered at Emmy, who was leaving the hall after lunch. She turned around, saw it was me, and disregarding the little gaggle of Ravenclaws she was walking with, dashed back to meet me.

"Oh, Ali, oh, oh, it's terrible! I wish I was in Hufflepuff with you! I—"

"Shhhh," I said soothingly, taking her arm. "Let's go and walk in the grounds and talk about it, yeah?" I was acutely aware of the Ravenclaw table behind me, and I didn't feel like discussing what an awful house it was in front of them. Especially if they were all as quick with a wand as Emmeline.

"Oh, Alice," Emmy sighed, "it's so lonely. All the other girls in my dorm seem so snooty an' stuck up- they've all come from wizarding families, so they talk about stuff I don't know about all day long."

"Hey, it's okay! You've got me, right? I had a look at the timetable, and we're together for charms after lunch, so we'll partner up then, and you don't have to talk to any of them high and mighty Ravenclaws, and you can sit with me at lunch. I'm sure no-one will mind."

* * *

We had been at Hogwarts for two months. I was in charms, partnered with Emmy as usual, and we were practising Wingardium Leviosa. In front of us Ella was concentrating fiercely, her wand swishing and flicking rapidly, until she finally managed to lift it with a squeal of delight. First Emmy tried; she held her wand elegantly in front of her and with a quick swish and flick, it twitched slightly and raised half off the desk and into the air.

Next I had a go. Gripping my wand tightly, I had a practice of the wand movement. I blinked. Where only a second ago had sat a small, fluffy white feather, now sat a small, fluffy blue feather. The Ravenclaw boy sat at the desks next to us let out a short, derisive laugh. "Oh, shut up, Longbottom," snapped Emmeline. "I don't see your feather floating." At that moment, Professor Flitwick walked by, and gazed at my feather in faint surprise.

"Did you do that, Miss Prewett?"

"Erm, well, yes, I did." I was slightly anxious that he was going to tell me off for getting it wrong. However, he looked slightly puzzled, and said kindly, "You appear to have accidently done a colour change charm, Miss Prewett. Very impressive indeed, since I haven't taught it to you. Not quite what I asked for, but since it's so well done, have five points for Hufflepuff anyway!" He twinkled cheerfully, before turning my feather white again. Emmeline smirked at the Ravenclaw boy, who scowled and turned back to his feather.

* * *

I skipped as I walked up the stairs to the girl's dormitory, laughing at Hestia's pathetic Christmas jokes.

"How does a yeti get down the hill?" Hestia asked.

"Dunno. How does a yeti get down a hill?"

"On a bi-icicle!"

"That's awful."

"I know. What do you have in December that you don't have in any other month?"

"Christmas?" I suggested.

"Nope. The letter 'D'".

"How do you come up with these?"

"Oh, I don't. My mum is muggleborn, and she insists on having muggle crackers every Christmas because she misses all the lame jokes."

I pushed open the door to the dorm, in time to hear Ella say to her particular friend Charlotte, "Oh, he's such a dream, so obviously I said yes—"

"Who's this?" asked Hestia interestedly.

"Sirius Black," sighed Ella. I frowned.

"Why would you want to date him?" I asked bluntly. "In fact, why would you want to date anyone?"

Ella looked at me pityingly. "Because he's handsome, Alice. Devilishly handsome, in fact!" she finished with a giggle. My frown deepened.

"I'm never going to date or fall in love," I declared. Ella tittered.

"Why ever not?"

I hesitated. I had a feeling that Ella would not be quite so impressed by my "it was the love that killed him" story as my muggle gang had been. "I'm just not," I said lamely.

"You'll be singing another tune in a few years, when the hormones start to kick in, and you actually start to _mature_," Ella said in an annoyingly superior tone.

"Oh shut up, Ella," Hestia flared up instantly. "Because you're so _very _mature, going around insulting people and showing off about how good you are at everything."

I cut in, "It's far more mature to decide not to date boys than to chase after them like—"

Ella stalked out, the slam of the door drowning out the end of the sentence. Charlotte looked anxious, and scurried out of the room after her friend without meeting Hestia's or my eye.

"Oh, well," Hestia made a brave stab at cheerfulness. "At least it's nearly Christmas!"

* * *

We were lying in front of the common room fire, distracting ourselves from the argument of earlier on with a game of chess, when Hestia said suddenly, "Why is it that you don't want to fall in love?"

"Promise you won't laugh?" I asked hesitantly.

"Course."

"Well... my mum died giving birth to me, and my dad was heartbroken because he was so in love with her. He stayed out at her grave too long one Christmas and died of the cold. My Grandmother always told me it was because he loved my mother so much that he left her, his own mother. I decided that I would never love someone that much, that it would ruin my life." I looked down at my hands, and added quietly, "It's the anniversary of his death in a couple of weeks."

"Oh." Hestia seemed uncertain of what she should say. "I'm, uh, sorry about you parents."

"S'okay. I don't remember them. Hey, we could swear off men together!" I looked at Hestia eagerly, and she understood that this was where she either showed that she was my friend, or rejected my firmly held belief and hurt me terribly.

"I guess," she replied slowly. "I suppose I don't want to be heartbroken either."

"Great! We'll need a vow, written old fashioned talk and we should probably hold hands, and—"

* * *

"I'm sorry, Alice." Emmeline was looking defiant. "I don't _wanna_ swear off men. It won't change my feelin's if I do fall in love with one, will it?"

"Emmy, please! I'm trying to _help_ you! I'm trying to stop you heart from being broken."

Emmeline gnawed on her lip. "Ali, I need to go to Transfig, I'm goin' to be late. Alright, how about if I swear off heartbreak? I'll like boys but not enough to cry over them. That do?"

"'Spose it'll have to," I grumbled.

"Is that even possible?" Hestia commented as Emmeline threw her arms around me, then sprinted off to transfiguration.

* * *

I was sitting in History of Magic, gazing out of the window blankly, while beside me Hestia doodled on he parchment. Suddenly, I started, and leaned forward towards the window. I nudged Hestia hard in the ribs. "Hestia, look! It's snowing!"

* * *

I was on the Hogwarts Express again. Emmeline was sprawled on the seat next to me, engrossed in _Quidditch Through the Ages_, and Hestia was opposite me, telling me about an incident that had happened that morning while I was doing some last minute packing.

"So Longbottom swaggers up and goes, 'Where's that idiotic dim witted friend of yours, Jones? The blonde one who turns feathers blue.' Then Emmeline looked over the top of her book, like this-" Hestia snatched _Quidditch Through the Ages _from Emmy and peered over it theatrically- "and says 'take that back, Frank Longbottom!' and he says, 'Or what, squirt?' and you know, he was seriously towering over her 'cause he's really tall already and Emmy was sitting on her trunk.

"Then Emmy just whips out her wand, as quick as lightening and shouts some spell that sounded like 'Gagaribus!'—"

"Grave Naribus," corrected Emmeline quietly, reaching for her book and settling behind it again.

"Yeah, that, so Longbottom's nose starts swelling up like a tomato or something until he can hardly keep his head upright!" Hestia and I broke into peals of laughter, and even Emmy smirked from behind _Quidditch Through the Ages._

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	5. So much for professionalism

Neville was beginning to get a headache. The incessant beeping of the machines attached to his parents was like a taunt. _Hey you. We're making your head pound, but if we stop then so do mummy and daddy's hearts. What do you say to that, eh?_

He stood up silently, and made for the door. The hunger pangs vaguely tugging at his stomach told him that it was probably time for another meal. There were no clocks in the blindingly white room, so he would just have to take a chance.

Fortunately, it seemed that he was in luck. The corridors were entirely deserted, and there weren't even any blonde haired shattered looking young women to knock his cigarette out of his hands. He strode down to the cafeteria and unlocked the kitchen door with a flick of his wand. Moving over to the massive magically chilled larder, he closed his eyes and inhaled, allowing the cold wash of air to caress his throbbing head. He had no idea when he had last slept properly- he hadn't visited the bed he had been given since the first night, however long ago that had been, but he hadn't slept then. He had eventually gravitated back to the white room. It was like it was drawing him in, he reflected. He couldn't stay away from it.

Opening his eyes, he gazed up at the massive selection of food. Spotting a box full of packets of bacon, he suddenly craved a cooked breakfast.

Ten minutes later, he was whirling around the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of orange juice, tending to the fried eggs, checking on the sizzling sausages and bacon. He loved to cook in this kitchen; everything was so conveniently in its place, and it helped take his mind off things. He hardly ever had a breakfast like this anymore- in fact, he had only done this about three times in the five years since he had left Hogwarts. Being an auror meant that he had to get up ridiculously early, gulp down a piece of toast and a mug of coffee, and apparate to the office in the mornings. If he was honest with himself, he didn't really enjoy being an auror much anymore, even apart from the rushed morning. It had been exciting to begin with, but the constant unpredictability and nerve wracking missions had begun to take their toll on his enthusiasm.

As he dished the food onto a plate, he heard footsteps out in the cafeteria, and stiffened. He doubted that he would get into trouble for being here, since it was him, and he always left money to pay for the food he took, but nevertheless he wasn't supposed to be here. A moment later a blonde head poked around the door, and he relaxed. It was just Hannah.

"Hey." She looked even worse than yesterday, like a pale shadow. "I smelt the food, and realised how damn hungry I am."

Neville smiled wanly. "Here, have this," he said, and offered the plate of food.

"Oh no!" She looked shocked. "I couldn't take it, you made that for yourself, I'll get my own—"

"Just bloody take it, Abbot. I'll make myself some more. Cutlery's in that drawer." She still looked inclined to argue, but as he threw some more bacon into the pan she evidently decided that it was pointless.

Another ten minutes and he was sitting opposite her at one of the hard tables of the cafeteria. She was chewing slowly, elbows on the table, her fork waving slightly as she seemed to struggle to keep upright. Already she was regaining some of her colour. She offered him another almost smile, and they ate in silence.

"How long is it since you last ate?" Neville asked almost sternly.

"How long is it since you last slept?" countered Hannah. Neville's lips twitched.

"Touché."

They continued to munch quietly, before Hannah said abruptly, "You look terrible, you know."

"Thanks a bunch. You're not looking so hot yourself, Abbot."

"At least I'm trying to get some sleep at night."

"At least I'm eating. Anyway, how do you know if I'm sleeping or not?"

"Hey, I've just eaten, haven't I?"

"Alright, but what about my second question, Abbot? How do you know whether I'm sleeping?"

She looked away. "Everyone knows."

"Excuse me?"

"Everyone knows, _Longbottom._ Every single healer is talking about it, all the long term patients gossip about it. You're famous, Neville, and people see you sleepwalking around the place like an inferius or something. There's a healer who's supposed to go and make your bed every morning, but she says it's never slept in. The trainee healers in your parents' room say you're there almost around the clock, sunk into a stupor, never sleeping. Everyone knows."

"Great. So much for professionalism. So everyone's going around gossiping about how the famous Neville Longbottom is losing his fucking marbles. Including you, by the sound of—"

"Oy, don't take this out on me!" She flared up. "I can't help hearing things. It's not my fault the trainee healers and patients have nothing better to do than whisper about the resident celebrity. You're lucky they don't know about you coming down and nicking food from the kitchens, the papers would have a field day!"

"I am not NICKING food! I always pay for it, every time! It's none of your bloody business what I do, or the papers', or anyone in this godforsaken building!"

She put her head in her hands briefly, and he felt a savage pleasure at her distress. However, when she lifted her head there wasn't a trace of a tear, and she said calmly, "Alright. That was uncalled for, I'm sorry. But it really isn't my fault- I didn't intentionally listen." She looked at him as though expecting him to apologise too, but he simply muttered, "Right."

She looked impassively at him, then stood up. "I'll just take these to the kitchen and then I'll be going. Thanks for the meal, Longbottom."

He watched her go with a mixture of emotions. He shook his head to clear it; he needed to go back to his parents. When Hannah returned from the kitchens, however, it seemed that she had other plans for him.

"Longbottom. Bed."

"Fuck off, Abbot." For some reason she was smirking slightly.

"I will not. You are going to bed this instant or so help me I will hex you to oblivion. Here, take this mirror. It'll vibrate and heat up in your hand if there's anything new on your parents and the healers want to talk to you. I'll give them the other one."

He eyed her raised wand cautiously, and suddenly felt some resolve collapse inside him. A traitorous part of his brain was saying that bed _would _be nice. He shrugged, and climbed the stairs to the room set aside for him, Hannah following him to make sure he really went there. He had a vague memory of being tucked under the red and orange checked quilt before sleep overtook him.

And so when Tracy the trainee healer opened the door in the morning to "make" the bed, she saw to her astonishment the tousled hair of Neville Longbottom protruding from under the covers. There was a silver mirror clutched in one hand, the pair of which was still sitting in the bottom of the hastily packed bag by Hannah Abbot's blown up mattress down on the ground floor.

**So, as usual, I'm begging you to review. Go on, make my day.**


	6. Why him?

I was in a compartment in the Hogwarts Express, in an animated discussion with Hestia about Defence Against the Dark Arts. Emmeline was curled up in a corner behind a book again, "Quidditch for Beginners". Outside, trees and fields flicked past the half open window like rubber bands flying from my wand on the stretching charm Emmeline had taught me out of a book last year. On the seat next to me sat a pile of chocolate frogs that we had vowed to save for a midnight feast later on.

"But Alice, jinxed? Seriously? Why would the job be jinxed?"

"I heard from a prefect at the end of last year. Professor Dumbledore announced that Professor Karten had resigned and left already because of 'family difficulties' at the end of term feast, and I heard a prefect say to her friend, 'Yeah, family problems, sure. That job's jinxed, I'm telling you. No-one's stayed for more than a year for nearly twenty years.'"

"That doesn't mean she's definitely right," I countered.

"But she's a prefect!" Our conversation was cut off a moment later when the compartment door slid open. Emmeline and I tensed up, both remembering our encounter last year, but then Emmeline saw who it was and relaxed slightly, her hand moving away from her wand pocket where it had been hovering and back to her book.

"Oh, Longbottom, it's just you."

His eyes flickered over Hestia and me, but he ignored us. "Have you seen Brian, Vance?"

"Nope."

"Right." Without bidding us goodbye he slid the door closed again.

"Since when has Longbottom become 'Just you?'" I asked, but Hestia was frowning.

"Why did you two go all stiff and tense when the door opened?" she asked, looking puzzled.

"We were expecting Malfoy and Nott again," I answered, absentmindedly picking up a chocolate frog and tearing off the wrapping.

"Why would you be expecting them? Alice, stop eating the frogs we're saving them!"

"Oops." I looked guiltily at the frog which let out a very unconvincing croak and leapt out of the window. "Oh, well. Malfoy and Nott walked in on us in our compartment at the beginning of last year, called Emmeline a mudblood, and staggered back out again. Screaming."

"Oh, right. That figures."

* * *

"Hestia!" She slowed down to let me catch up. "Seen Emmeline?"

"No, I haven't. She seems to be disappearing a lot lately, doesn't she?"

"Do you think she's found some friends in her own house instead?" I felt my heart sink as the likelihood of my own suggestion sank in.

"Nah, can't have. They're all complete cows, the Ravenclaws in our year. Except for Emmy, obviously." Hestia hesitated. "D'you think... d'you think maybe it could be a boy?"

I froze. "No, Emmy wouldn't..."

"Alice, you can't get angry at her if it is!" ordered Hestia. "Please, Ali. She never said she wouldn't. She knows how you feel about it, but she's got to live her own life. C'mon, Alice, give her a chance."

"As soon as I find her..."

"No, Alice, you mustn't question her. She tell you if she wants to in her _own time. _You are _not_ to question her. Understand?" The normally cheerful Hestia was looking very stern.

"Fine, fine, whatever." I pushed her off, grumbling., but inside I was feeling slightly scared of this newly serious Hestia.

* * *

"Where _is _that girl?" We were standing on the top row of seats, scanning the seething crowd for Emmeline. "She loves quidditch; she wouldn't miss it for anything!"

"She's constantly reading quidditch books," agreed Hestia.

"And last summer, whenever she wasn't bugging me about homework she was begging me to give her flying lessons! She's obsessed with the sport!"

"Oh look, they're starting!" said Hestia despairingly. "We'll just have to watch it without her.

"But it's the Ravenclaw versus Slytherin match! She'll want to be supporting her house!"

"There's nothing we can do about it," Hestia told me firmly, pulling me back into my seat. "I missed the names of the players because of you!"

A minute later the Ravenclaw team file onto the pitch. As they leapt into the air, I squinted at the small seeker. There was something familiar about the way she flew.

"And Lovegood has the quaffle! He speeds off towards the goalposts- but is blocked by Zabini!"

I soon lost track of the commentary. Normally I would have been avidly following every move the players made, every pass and every drop, but not today. I kept being distracted by the small figure circling high above the game, wearing blue and bronze robes. Suddenly, the figure stiffened, and then darted forwards and down into a dive.

"And I think Vance has spotted the snitch!" My eyes shot wide open, and I gasped. As the small figure pulled out of the dive, the Slytherin seeker hot on the tail, Hestia exclaimed the news I already knew: "It's Emmeline!"

* * *

"Very talented indeed," the Ravenclaw captain was telling us proudly, ruffling Emmeline's hair. "She was our secret weapon, and I told her not to tell anyone, not even her friends, especially as you're not in our house. So sorry about that, kids."

We brushed off his apologies and bombarded Emmeline with hugs and questions.

"Oy, Emmeline! You coming to get changed or what? Party at the common room, Frank promised!" It was Longbottom's friend Brian West.

"I'd better go," she told us.

"So that's why she kept disappearing!" I said to Hestia as we walked back up to the castle. "It wasn't a boy after all!"

Hestia nodded. She looked thoughtful.

* * *

Somewhere in the castle the clock struck twelve times, the low, ominous notes reverberating through the castle. I frowned, and sat up in bed. It was a hot June night, and I couldn't sleep. I knew that I'd be exhausted in the morning, but for some reason my brain just wasn't letting me drift off. I slid out of bed, slipped on my silk dressing gown and padded out of the door, with no clear idea of where I was going. I passed the fourth floor, where I knew that the Come and Go room, or the Room of Requirement, was. I had discovered it in a night wandering last year.

Just as I was continuing up the stairs past the corridor I heard a faint scuffling behind me, and melted immediately into the shadows, closing my eyes so that they wouldn't reflect the light. After a few seconds, I squinted through my eyelashes and saw two boys standing in the corridor looking confused. They were evidently Gryffindors, for both were wearing red and gold pyjamas with lions on them. I recognised one as Sirius Black and my lip curled as I recalled how, last year, he had gone out with a swooning Ella for two days before dumping her unceremoniously and running off with a second year who obviously had no idea what she was getting herself into. Much as I disliked Ella, and felt a faint sense of triumph at having been proven right, I couldn't stand the disrespect he had shown her. Suddenly his eyes alighted on my face, and I knew he had seen me. I stepped forwards.

"Impressive." I stayed silent, not acknowledging the compliment.

Then the other boy spoke. He was slightly shorter, and had messy black hair and hazel eyes that would almost certainly have had Ella swooning again. "Who are you?" The words were not spoken with hostility, only curiosity.

"Alice Prewett."

"I'm James Potter." The name rang a vague bell.

"Oh you're the one that Lily Evans was complaining about in transfiguration." The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. The boy's face seemed to almost crumple.

"Yes, well, don't let us keep you," Sirius said brusquely. I was surprised, but didn't let it show. With a nod to James, I continued up the stairs. After a few steps, glanced back surreptitiously to see where they were going, but they seemed to have completely disappeared.

I found my feet carrying me towards the astronomy tower. I reached the observation room where we had our lessons, and saw that there was a door open at the far end of the room that I had never noticed before. Hesitantly, I made my way towards it.

I reached the doorway and peered out. There was a figure standing there, a silhouette against the moon. He or she was standing on a balcony that spread out perfectly to look at the stars. The figure looked like a student; either that or a very small teacher. He- yes, his posture suggested that he was male- was too thin to be Professor Flitwick.

As I dawdled in the doorway, the figure obviously noticed that I was blocking the dim light from the observation room. He turned, and as the light fell on his face I saw that it was none other than Frank Longbottom.

"What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question."

We stood and looked at each other suspiciously, then he turned back to the stars. When I stayed in the doorway, he said quietly, "You can come and look too, you know."

I wanted to. I desperately wanted to stand under the sky and admire the beautiful stars, but I knew that this was exactly the kind of thing that happened in those trashy romance novels that Hestia liked to read. The heroine would go and stand on the balcony with her enemy, swearing that she hated him and wouldn't go anywhere near him, and by the end of the evening they would be kissing.

"No thanks," I said crisply. "I think I'll go back to bed."

He shrugged. "Whatever."

* * *

"So many boys and so little time!" said Emmeline dramatically, throwing her hand to her forehead in a very Ella-ish manner.

"Shut up," I growled. I hadn't told Hestia about my night's escapade on purpose, knowing that she would make a massive deal about it and blow it entirely out of proportion. I had told Emmeline of course- I still told her everything, and she told me everything in return.

* * *

I was in a Herbology lesson joint with the Ravenclaws a few months into my third year. I had always enjoyed Herbology, although the plants we had been dealing with seemed a bit tame compared to the plants in the woods on the land surrounding my grandmother's house. Finally, however, we were getting to see a bit of action.

As Hestia and Emmeline watched in disgust, I removed three snargaluff pods myself by firmly pinning back the branches and holding on tight to a branch that I could tell just by looking at it that it was very sensitive.

As I leaned back against the greenhouse, wiping sweat from my forehead, I felt something touch my shoulder. I glanced around to see the venomous tentacular leaning its head (for want of a better word) on my shoulder, and scratched it behind the leaves absentmindedly. Over in the corner, I could see Longbottom and West along with another Ravenclaw boy struggling with their Snargaluff. A spiny branch swiped Longbottom across the nose. I smirked.

* * *

I woke up on Easter morning to hear Ella's chattering voice permeating through my covers.

"_Look, Charlotte!_ Oh, look, isn't it soooo adorable? Oh he is _so _sweet, I'm so glad I'm going out with him!"

"He got you a kitten?" Charlotte seemed to be making an effort to be enthusiastic, but I had heard her saying before that she didn't like cats much. Ella rattled on regardless.

"Oh, isn't it so _cute?_ Its little face, so gorgeous! I'm so lucky to be going out with Frank Longbottom, he's such a dream!"

I groaned, and turned over, putting my pillow over my head to block out any further conversation. "Why him?" I moaned.

* * *

**Please review? *puppy-dog eyes* Please?**

**This took me a while because I got a bit distracted by _Backwards with Purpose, _one of the greatest fanfics of all time in my opinion. It was recommended to me by a reviewer. It's by Deadwoodpecker- if you haven't read it, go! now! read it! Oh and please review this chapter too :)**


	7. Dreams

In a beautiful garden, birds twittered and flowers bloomed peacefully. Neville was surrounded by green, red, yellow, orange and pink. Below him, the grass was soft beneath his bare feet. Above him, the deep blue sky was devoid of any clouds, ever the wispy white ones that always seemed to be around somewhere. In fact, he could see no white at all. Everything was a blaze of colour.

He heard a voice behind him. "Neville..." He spun around, or tried to, anyway. The air seemed to be as thick as treacle; he rotated slowly on the spot, the arm rising away from his side to balance him as unhurried as a thistledown on a windless day.

His parents stood before him, smiling happily. He recognised them immediately, not from the drawn white faces he had seen in the hospital beds, but from the photo that had sat by his grandmother's bed for decades...

"_Neville dear, you shouldn't be in Grandma's room—oh." Neville looked up, his grandmother's long emerald skirts towering over his four year old frame. His eyes widened with anxiety, but she didn't seem too angry._

"_Gra'ma, who're theshe p-people?" he ventured, lisping slightly as he held out the photograph for her to see._

"_That's your Mother and Father, dear," she said gently, tapping the picture with her wand to remove his finger marks from the glass._

"_My Muvver and Farver who love me very mu'th?"_

"_Yes darling. Remember we go and visit them in the hospital every week?"_

_Neville looked down at the photograph. The people in the picture looked so happy. "Gra'ma," he said again, "Gra'ma, why are they inna ho'pital?"_

_She sighed. "One day I'll tell you, dear."_

They were wearing the same clothes- he a grey trouser suit, and she a grey skirt suit. He recalled that one time, many years after he first came across that picture, his grandmother had brought it out again, and told him that it was taken on the day of their auror induction ceremony, when they had finished their training. There was now a similar picture sitting on her bedside table in that empty house, but with him in the middle, alone. The picture of his parents still held pride of place, even after the owner of the bedside table was gone, and her bed empty.

He stumbled forwards, the air still thick and almost unyielding. "M-Mother? Father?"

"Neville..." It was his mother speaking. His father had his arm around her waist, just as he had in the photograph, and he was grinning the same sheepish grin.

"Mother! Father!" They seemed to be fading away, the rush of colour spinning around him as though a high wind was whisking it away. "Mother! _Mother_!"

The next thing he knew, he was lying in a bed, his eyes still closed. There was no noise. All was silent.

He opened his eyes, feeling a great sense of loss as the last hope that he might find himself back in the beautiful garden again faded. He was in a white walled room, but fortunately for his sanity the carpet was navy blue, and the quilt red and orange. There was a clock on one wall, and a small window in another. He focussed his sleep-gummed eyes on the clock and registered that it read almost nine o'clock. He sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He felt surprisingly refreshed considering he could only have had about five or six hours of sleep. Glancing at the window, he started in surprise. The sky outside showed no signs of late morning. Instead, it was almost dark; there were streetlamps on and grey clouds hung menacingly low.

That could only mean- but no, surely not- but it must be. He had slept until nine in the evening! He sprang out of bed and dashed for the door, tearing down corridors and frightening several healers out of their lives. Finally, he reached the door of the white room. He threw it open, and sprinted in.

"What happened? Is everything okay, has there been any change?"

"Shhh!" a healer hissed. A kindly looking man, who had probably told Neville his name, although he certainly couldn't recall it, drew him to one side.

"There has been no change, Mr Longbottom. We would certainly let you know of any change straight away. If you would like a chair, I can..."

"No, no, it's fine." Neville had just remembered the mirror still in his hand, and felt that he had made rather a fool of himself. He wandered out of the room, and found his feet carrying him towards the kitchens.

When he reached the cafeteria, however, there was someone already there. He could smell some kind of meat, and hear a voice humming.

"Oh, hello." Hannah, for of course it was her, ladled a pile of stew onto a plate. "Here, have this."

He sniffed it dubiously, but decided against protest. After all, she had eaten what he had given her.

"D'you have a good sleep?"

"What? Oh, right. Yeah, good. Stop smirking at me."

"Who, me?" asked Hannah innocently.

They ate in silence for a while, for Neville was starving again, not having eaten in about seventeen hours, and Hannah seemed happy to keep the quiet. The beef was a bit chewy, and it could have done with some more spices, but all in all it wasn't too bad. Eventually, however, Neville remembered.

"How's your dad doing?"  
"He's- he's a bit worse." She stared intently at a piece of meat on her fork. "I'd rather talk about something else, if it's all the same to you."

"Of course." He cast around for another topic of conversation. "Er, so what do you do for a living?"

"I'm a writer. I used to be a journalist for _Witch Weekly, _but I quit when I realised how utterly materialistic and fake it was. I write the occasional article for various magazines just to keep myself going, and I'm working on a novel."

"You used to write for _Witch Weekly? _Hang on, that rings a bell- do you write under a pen name?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, Hannah Robin. It's a bit less nun-ish than Abbott. But how do you know? Do you read _Witch Weekly?"_

"Oh, I don't, but Liza, that's my—"

"Your ex-girlfriend, yeah," she interrupted. "That's why I quit, really. I refused to do a report on your breakup. The editor told me she wanted a 'Mygie Emcie' angle, and I decided I was fed up of manipulating the public eye like that."

"Err... a 'Mygie Emcie' angle?"

"Oh, sorry, that's part of the WW office code. Mygie is MYG, meaning misused young girl, and emcie is EMC- evil manipulating celebrity."

Neville grinned in a rather forced way. "I, uh, saw that someone else did an article in _Witch Weekly _with that angle. Liza sent it to me. She seemed very smug."

"Oh, yes." Hannah waved a dismissive hand, which incidentally happened to be holding her fork. "Oops, sorry, didn't mean to splatter you with stew. Here, let me get it. If you use tergeo it'll stain." She leaned forwards and took hold of his crumpled shirt between two fingers and began siphoning the sauce from it with her wand. He felt a strange thrill run up his spine as her fingers bumped his chest, and her bright bent head bobbed up and down in front of him as she carried on talking. He decided she must have had a shower; she smelt nice.

"Yes, that'd be Georgia Skeeter, Rita Skeeter's niece," continued Hannah as though she wasn't causing the man in front of her to shiver unexplainably, and strange thoughts to appear unbidden in his head. He shook himself mentally, and forced himself to concentrate on what she was saying.

"...she's an absolute idiot, but she's pretty good at putting words together in the right order to follow the stupid _angles_. There you go," she added, releasing him. "All gone."

"Th- thanks." He hoped she hadn't noticed the slight stutter- he had thought he had grown out of that, but apparently not.

"So how's being an auror?" Hannah asked.

Neville shrugged. "Alright, I suppose."

She raised an eyebrow. "You don't like it?"

"Did I say that?" he countered. She looked at him pointedly, and he sighed. "Alright, I'm not that keen on it. It's so time consuming, and I don't really enjoy the 'thrill of the chase' and all that, not like Harry and Ron do."

"So change jobs." He blinked in surprise.

"But- what- I mean- huh?"

"Just change jobs. You don't like it, don't do it. That's what I did with my _Witch Weekly_ job. You still interested in Herbology?" He nodded dumbly. "Well, I heard Professor Sprout is thinking of retiring next year. You could teach Herbology at Hogwarts!"

"I- what? I can't just change jobs like that! I've got all the training and everything to be an auror, and it would be a much bigger change than just one kind of writing to another!"

"Excuse me!" she fired up. "It's not as simple as just 'changing from one—'"

"And anyway, I'd be a hopeless teacher," he continued as if she hadn't spoken. "I'd stumble over my words the whole time, and no-one would listen to me."

"Rubbish. Why would you stumble over your words? You haven't been doing it now- well not much," she amended.

"I only stutter when I'm nervous," he explained. "And believe me, I would be _very_ nervous having to talk to loads of kids."

"Oh, right." She looked thoughtful.

There was a short silence, before Neville said in a would-be casual voice, "So... are you sure she's thinking of retiring?"

"Yeah. Ernie told me, and she told him. He's constantly up at the castle checking with her and Slughorn about ingredients for his potions. You know he started his own potion shop in Diagon Alley?"

"Yes, I heard."

"I don't suppose there's any hope of getting you to go to bed again tonight, after you slept so long last night?"

He grinned. "None at all." For a moment, he hesitated, and then said abruptly, "I had a weird dream last night."

"Oh really?"

He explained the dream, and how real it felt.

"It sounds quite...disturbing. I had a dream a few years ago about my brother. I dreamt that I was sixteen again, and he was just four. I was showing him around Hogwarts for some reason, and we were on one of the moving stair cases and he- he fell off." She grimaced. "He _bounced_. When he was up at the height of the staircase again, I could see he was all...misshapen. It was horrible. I've been scared of heights ever since."

"I'm sorry," answered Neville gently. "I didn't know you have a brother."

"I don't." She said shortly. "The Death Eaters got him too. A few months before I had that dream."

The mood had taken a sudden nosedive, and Hannah seemed to regret it. "Anyway, I _am_ going to bed, so I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Night, Abbott."

**Okay, so this was a bit of a slow chapter, but I'd still appreciate any comments/suggestions you have.**


	8. Auror

**I just want to say, before you start reading, that I have nothing against homosexuality. I'm trying to make the story realistic, that's all, and it is set in the seventies.**

I was making my way up to divination, dragging my feet and still grumbling under my breath at the conversation I had just had with Hestia and Emmeline. They had been making fun of divination since the first day when I had staggered down to the Great Hall, purple in the face from laughing at Remus Lupin's expression when Professor Brent prophesied his doom. At first I had maintained that it was worth the pointlesness for the comedy value, but after a year the humour had begun to wear off. I was not looking forward to to the first lesson of my fourth year.

"Partner up, please, and share a crystal ball between two." I looked around for Charlotte- I had partnered with her all last year as neither of us had any particular friends in this class- and saw to my disgust that she was sidling up to Remus with a very sloppy look on her face. Obviously _she_ didn't mind that he was heading for a grisly death at the hands, or rather, claws, of a raging bear. I noticed that a girl with vibrant red hair was looking similarly disgruntled. I climbed over a few pouffes to reach her.

"Hey Lily, be my partner?"

"Sure. Mary's gone off after some boy so I've been abandoned." She mock pouted, then gave a wry grin. "All I can say is, if she marries him, I hope she mentions me in her speech- 'and of course, many thanks to my dear friend Lily, who sacrificed our partnership in divination to allow me to pursue-' she turned to look over her shoulder, screwed up her forehead in though, then finished, 'possibly Sturgis or maybe Ben.' I can never tell them apart," she added.

I shrugged. "Charlotte's off after Remus Lupin. Boys- what a bloody waste of space."

Lily tipped her head on one side and said curiously, "I've heard about your whole boy hating thing. Do you actually hate boys that much, or is it just a ruse to get their attention?"

I was a little taken aback, and somewhat more than a little irritated at her suggestion, but I kept my voice dignified as I told her, "I don't _hate _them. I just think falling in love is a waste of time and will end up getting you hurt."

She looked thoughtful."I suppose there's some logic in that. That utter idiot James Potter keeps asking me out- I always turn him down though, because I'm obviously just a a challenge to him. I bet he would drop me in a couple of days."

"_Finally _someone who sees the light!" I cried dramatically. "You know, I think I should start a club- the 'We Hate Boys' club, and see how many people I could convince to join." Lily stared at me. "Joking," I explained helpfully.

"Oh, right!" She looked relieved.

"Yeah, I'm not completely insane- yet," I assured her.

"So I kind of see your point. I think I will wait until I'm older before I start dating too," Lily confided. I was about to reply that this wasn't quite what I had meant, when there was a interruption.

"Have you seen anything yet, girls?" Professor Bradely loomed over us.

Lily looked anxious, and I blurted out, "Yeah, absolutely!"

She raised well plucked eyebrow at me. "Well?"

"Well wha- oh, right, yeah. Um, I see, that is, let me have another look," I burbled. Beside me Lily was trying not to laugh. "Erm, right, yeah. I see... a dog. Yeah, I think it's a dog. On a, um, skateboard," I improvised wildly.

"A dog on a skateboard?" repeated Professor Bradely, looking bemused.

"Er, yeah. I see, err, you! Yes," I pretended to peer closer, "I see the dog biting you, and now your hand is swelling up." I glanced at her, and realised I had gone too far.

"Right, that will do thank you, Miss Prewett. And you, Miss Evans!" For Lily was still desparately stuffing her knuckles into her mouth to try and stop laughing. "Allow me!"

She plucked the crystal ball from the table, drew herself up to her full height, and held it in front of her. "I see..." she began in a deep voice. "I see you, my dear, walking down a dark road. I see you pausing under a street lamp. I see... I see a tall dark stranger..." I froze, my amused expression fading. "Ah, the picture changes! I see... I see you in a wedding dress... you are walking towards that same-"

"SHUT UP!" I bellowed. There was total silence for a few seconds, save for the crackling of the fire, before a loud crash brought everyone to their senses. James Potter was standing by his low table, a cracked crystal ball at his feet and a guilty look on his face. Beside me, I heard Lily tut loudly. However, I wasn't finished. "How _dare _ you, you _stupid _ woman!" I hissed. "How _dare_ you make up... _lies_... about my future like that? I'm never getting married! Do you hear me?" Never!"

Professor Bradely's face taughtened. Then she turned on the spot and strode to her desk. She scribbled something on a piece of paper, then marched back to my desk. Finally, in a voice of controlled calm, she said, "Take this to the headmaster, Miss Prewett. Miss Evans, accompany her and make sure she goes straight there. The password is 'sugar quills.'"

* * *

I was hurrying to transfiguration, two days after the divination incident. Everywhere I went I was surrounded by hecklers.

"What did Dumbledore say, Alice?"

"Oi, Alice, marry me!"

"Hey Prewett, are you gay, then? You a lesbo, Prewett? That why you don't want your 'tall dark stranger'?"

"I reckon I can make you change your mind, Prewett- come and find me in a broom cupboard later-"

"Hey, Prewett-"

"SHUT UP!" This time, however, it wasn't me shouting the words. I spun around to see a flash of red hair as Lily Evans began smacking people with her transfiguration textbook. I had heard of her legendary temper while eavsdropping on James Potter and Sirius Black's conversation during transfiguration- after that night last year when Potter had inexplicably almost broken down when I mentioned Lily's name I had taken more interest in their chattering in the hope that I would find out more. I had dissmissed Potter's awe as exaggeration, but now I saw he was being truthful; Lily really was scary when she was angry.

"Stop hitting me Evans. I wanted to talk to Prewett. No, I'm NOT going to ask her about divination! Why should I care if she's gay?" Longbottom had appeared from nowhere, and was struggling against the formidable power that was Lily Evans. "Evans, get out of the _way!"_

"Thanks, Lily," I said quietly, "but I'll talk to him." Lily stepped aside, looking mutinous.

"Do you know where your friend Vance is?"

I blinked. "Uh, Ancient Runes I think. Why?"

He moved to the side, revealing a slightly anxious looking boy whom I vaguely recognised. "I wanted to talk to Emmeline about something," the boy said.

"Who are you?" I asked bluntly.

"Brian West." Seeing the look of confusion on my face, he added, "You know, from the quidditch team."

Light dawned. "Oh, that Brian West! What did you want to talk to her about?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, quidditch practise. Yeah, I wanted to ask her about... when... the... next... quidditch practise is!" he finished triumphantly.

I glanced quizzically at Longbottom, who shrugged. "Err, right. I'll tell her. Well, if that's all..." The corridor was almost empty; I glanced at my watch. "Shit! we're going to be late for transfig.!" As Lily gasped, and we both turned and were about to run, Longbottom called after me.

"Oi! Prewett!

"What?" We both turned back, Lily tapping her foot impatiently.

"_Are_ you gay?"

Lily lunged. "No!" I hollered after his retreating figure as I hung onto the back of Lily's robes. "I'm _not_!" But he was gone.

* * *

I was sitting in transfiguration- once again, just like the year before when I first made friends with Lily, we had it with the Gryffindors. As Potter leaned forwards to try and get her attention, and she rebuffed him as usual, I reflected on how strange it was that almost two years ago ( for it was nearing the end of the school year) I had wondered why Potter looked so upset about Lily. Now I had been sort-of friends with her for this long I found it incredible that anyone could manage not to know- she proclaimed her hate for him as loudly as he proclaimed his "love" for her.

"Anyway," continued Lily as though Potter's interruption had not occurred, "I've been thinking."

"Wow!" cried Mary McDonald in mock admiration. "Lily? Thinking? Surely not!"

"Ha ha," Lily said in a bored voice. "I'm being serious."

"Wow! Lily? Serious? Surely-"

"Someone say m'name?" interrupted Black from behind us.

"NO." Lily said firmly. "Shut up, Mary. I actually am being... I'm not joking. I've been thinking..." she lowered her voice, "about the war."

We all froze. No-one liked to admit that they knew what was going on. It was a tabooed subject- if you brought it up people tended to look the other way and change the subject.

"We don't know there's going to _be _ a war yet, Lil," whispered Mary tentatively.

"McGonagal thinks there will," Lily said quietly, glancing at the front and catching the transfiguration professor's eye. She hastily waved her wand at the kitten in front of her which disappeared with a faint mew. "I know she does. I went and talked to her about it after that...incident two weeks ago." We all winced; we knew how upset Lily had been at Severus's betrayal. "I want to help my family. She didn't deny that the war was coming. She said that the best way to help is to become an auror or a healer. So that's my news- I've changed my options for next year and I want to become an auror."

Mary had obviously heard this news as she didn't look shocked- unlike Hestia and I. It was Mary who said quietly, "You're really sure about this, aren't you." It wasn't a question.

"As sure as I've ever been about anything."

* * *

I was in my garden. For once I wasn't running wild with my muggle friends, but just admiring the beauty of it. It was wonderful- so full of colour.

"Alice." I blinked away my daydream, and looked around. Emmeline was standing in front of me. We were sitting at the breakfast table.

"Morning Emmy." Then I saw her face. "What is is?"

"Look at this." She shoved the morning paper towards me.

"_Muggles found dead in small village with 'Dark Mark' hovering over building. Aurors suspect involvment of one styling himself as 'Lord Voldemort.' _Oh, how horrible!"

Emmy looked at me stonily. "Read the article."

Seeing her expression, I decided it was best not to argue. I scanned the article.

_"In the village of Little Burghill a family of five muggles was found dead yesterday evening. Over their house eyewitnesses saw the green skull with a snake tongue sign that some recognised as the 'dark mark', sign of the dark wizard who goes by the name of 'Lord Voldemort'._

_"The family- Daisy Cane (41), Thomas Cane (22), Benjamin Cane (18), Nathanial Cane (14) and Elizabeth Cane (12) were found dead in their home by muggle Celia Vance, who proceeded to call the 'police men', muggle version of aurors. Fortunately, Mrs Sarah Prewett, the only witch in the area, alerted the ministry within minutes and the aurors were able to disperse the muggles and confound the 'police men' into believing that the deaths were the result of something they call a 'gas leak'. _

_"Mrs Prewett told us, 'It sickens me that anyone would do this. Muggles may not have our capabilities, but they are people all the same, and the fact that this so called "Lord Voldemort"would target them makes me sick. Thomas Cane, the eldest of the boys, who had to support his family after his father died, worked for me as a butler. Some would say that inviting muggles into our homes is inadvisable, as it means that one has to be more careful to conceal one's true gifts, but I am proud, yes, proud, to say that this did not prevent me. I gave Thomas a job because he needed it, and I believe that the lives of people, even muggles, are more important than the personal sacrifice I had to make.'_

_"It is indeed advised by the ministry not to employ muggles to work in the house, but it is not the law, and Mrs Prewett was perfectly within her right to do this."_

I looked up at Emmeline, horrorstruck. The news was only just sinking in. "Little Nat- he was one of the kids in our gang was't he?" Emmeline nodded silently. "And his sister, Lizzie- I remember she used to want to tag along, but we told her she was too young. And Thomas!" I was struck by a horrible thought. "I almost made him lose his job once! I tried to! I caught him with the governess. Oh, how I regret it now." I looked down at the article and started. "And... your parents..." I murmered. For a moment Emmeline just looked grim, but then her face crumpled like a piece of paper.

"It- it could have been them," she whispered. Then she burst into tears.

Hestia watched silently as I rocked Emmeline in a way I had never done before. Never, when I was young and thoughtless,had I held her so tightly and wiped away her tears, as she cried for her mother's abuse, her parents' marriage. As I held her now I thought of the Canes; of Daisy Cane, who got pregnant at 19, and lost her husband at 29. Of Thomas Cane, who had to start working when he was 16 keep his family alive. I vaguely recalled the gossip- they said he was clever, that he could go to a grammar school. But he had to abandon his dreams. Of Benny Cane, who would sometimes slip Nat a bar of chocolate to share with the gang, and who winked at us when he came across us in the village. Of Nat Cane, little Nat, who admired me so much for my spoilt ways and confident opinions; Little Nat who wanted to know what healers were. And of small Lizzy Cane, who wanted to go to the circus with us, and cried when I said no.

They were dead.

* * *

I was sitting opposite Proffesor Sprout, my head of House. She had taken over from Professor Tofty only recently, and was very young by normal Head of House standards. Professor Tofty had retired and become an examiner for OWLs and NEWTs. "Chocolate frog?" she offered. I shook my head, my lips pressed tightly together. "Well then, Miss Prewett, do I take it that you want to tell me something?"

"Yes. I want to change my options. I want to take Potions instead of Herbology. Please," I added, as an afterthought.

She regarded me carefully. I gulped, and examined my fingernails. "Excuse me a sec, Miss Prewett," she said at last. She walked over to a filing cabinet and muttered a complicated unlocking charm. "Never quite got the hang of non-verbals for the difficult stuff," she explained conversationally. I said nothing. She tapped a dial on the cabinet, and said "Prewett, Alice." A roll of parchment popped up, and she scooped it up. Returning to the desk, she sat down and proceeded to peruse the piece of parchment, her lips moving soundlessly. "Yes, I thought so," she mumbled. The her head popped up from behing the parchment, her messy eyebrows raised, and said, "Are you aware that if you change Herbology to Potions you will be doing all the subjects required to apply for auror training?" she asked me.

"Yes," I replied. "That's sort of the point."

"Ah. I thought you wanted to work in a magical greenhouse?"

"I changed my mind."

She examined me carefully. "I read in the newspaper-"

"Yes," I interrupted. "Yes, that's why."

"Friends of yours?" SHe looked sypmathetic.

"You could say that." I replied shortly.

"It's very challenging to become an auror, you know," she told me.

"I know. Lily said. I still want to try."

Professor Sprout scrutinized the parchment again. "I see you're getting good marks in most of the subjects you want to take- Es in everything apart from Defence and Charms- you're averaging an O for Defense- very well done, by the way- and an A for charms. However," she glanced at me, "Herboblogy is by far your best subject. You're working at an O every lesson, if I remember correctly."

I said nothing.

She sighed. "May I advise you to wait for your OWL results, Miss Prewett? You may want to change your mind again."

"No." I had a stubborness in me that not even my Grandmother could match. All these hints that Professor Sprout didn't think I could do it were making me even more certain. "I want to change now please. I can improve Charms- my friend Emmeline is brilliant at it."

"Well, it's your decision." Her tone of voice implied, "It's your funeral."

**Sorry this took so long- a combination of exams and writers block have made me very slow to update. I have only a rough idea of the next chapter, so it may be a while before I update again, but I wanted to get this up before everyone loses interest. Maybe I'll get a rush of inspiration- I hope so. **

**Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. Please review now, you wonderful people!**


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